As Reality Erodes
by 9science
Summary: I have no memories of my early childhood. Most people don't. Then again, normal people don't wake up in an unfamiliar body. Most children don't believe they are amnesiac adults. And very possibly trapped in an alternate reality. Is it any surprise I doubt my sanity? ...I wonder, who is the dream, and who the dreamer, lost in possibilities? [SI/OC Gaara] Giftfic for mildrice.


**As Reality Erodes**

" _There is only one difference between a madman and me._

 _The madman thinks he is sane._

 _I know I am mad."_

— _Salvador Dali_

* * *

 **Disclaimer!** I don't own Naruto. In fact, I own very little except for the horrors that thrive in my imagination and occasionally send me running, complete with insensate gibbering, into the darkness.

 **Warning!** Cursing, because this is something of a self-insert. Some gore, also known as bloody dismemberment of fictional sentient beings, because Ninja, Gaara, and Shukaku.

* * *

"Are you ready?" – Human Speech.

 _Not really..._ – Human Thoughts.

 _ **Go away. I'm sleeping.**_ **– Bijuu Speech and Thoughts.**

* * *

 **01\. Daydream**

It's like flipping a switch.

I awake suddenly from a dreamless sleep, eyes fluttering open. _Was I asleep at all?_ I've always slept like that— tumbling gracelessly from consciousness to unconsciousness and back again. I don't usually dream, so my imagination compensates when I'm awake. No hallucinations or anything of that sort; just a tendency to daydream when my mind is unoccupied. Nothing out of the ordinary; although I do some wicked 'thinking outside the box' when I'm teetering on the edge between wakefulness and sleep.

 _Mmrrrft,_ I think to myself grumpily, too lazy to verbalize the noise. _Still feel a little off. Should I go back to sleep?_

I would, if not for one teeny, tiny little problem. I seem to be in a room that feels, at best, only vaguely familiar. I would call it an average-sized bedroom, if it contained a bed.

 _On that note, I seem to have fallen asleep while sitting. Must have been exhausted._

Still rather dazed, I scrutinize my surroundings. Four walls in a neutral, sandstone color. A closer look reveals that they are carved out of some kind of stone, as is the floor and ceiling. Three doors. A pair of small, circular windows. Through the windows, I can see a sliver of the night sky, stars twinkling cheerily. Another strange thing; with the level of light pollution in the world, seeing the night sky that dark is rare.

"...Weird." I mumble quietly to myself. I rarely wake at night, especially if I'm tired.

 _Did some noise wake me up?_ I can't hear anything strange now; if anything, it's actually unnervingly quiet. Just some sort of static hum or rustle in the background— like a radio turned down low, maybe? If I focus on it, I swear I can almost make out words...

 _Meh, whatever._ Waving that thought away, I turn my attention back to the room.

There is little in the way of furniture or decoration. A small desk and an accompanying stool—sturdy and functional, made of some sort of dark wood— both look to be sized for a child. Beside those are several long shelves, carved into the wall. A bookshelf, holding a selection of books and maybe a few trinkets of some sort; I'm neither close enough to read the titles, nor awake enough to muster up the curiosity needed to get up and take a closer look. A closed chest, also stone, with a somewhat ratty— and therefore, much beloved— teddy bear placed on top of it. And then there is my current seat, a reddish-brown beanbag chair, one of three identical beanbags placed seemingly at random in the room. I am cocooned in a light green, fluffy blanket.

 _Where am I? A child's study or playroom, maybe?_

 _Who do I know that has one? One_ _what_ _, one child or one room?_

 _Ha!_ I huff in amusement. _Stop distracting yourself—. Better yet, stop thinking to yourself, you kook._

I squeeze my eyes shut, and then open them again, hoping for a change in scenery. _Nope. Still here._ Next, there comes a much more worrying thought. _Wait... Where am I_ _supposed_ _to be?_ _What was I doing before I fell asleep?_

My head throbs in defiance when I try to remember. Rubbing at my temples, I scowl furiously. I'm not prone to sudden headaches, so why..? It is only then I notice my hands. _So_ _small_ _._ Short, chubby fingers— a child's hands. No familiar scars or freckles. No callouses... Just pale, smooth skin.

What comes next should be unsurprising— a full blown panic attack. _Who_ _am_ _I?_ I can feel the blood drain from my face. _Who am I supposed to be?!_ And because I don't know the answer to either question: terror, all-encompassing terror. Breaths puffing out in short, staccato gasps. My hands shake; I clench them into fists reflexively, clutching the green blanket I'm wrapped in.

Curling into a fetal position, knees pressed tightly against my chest, I squeeze my eyes shut. _I am not a child. I'm_ _not_ _. I shouldn't be here. Shouldn't be a child._ The blanket that I'm currently quietly sobbing into and snotting up in a highly embarrassing manner would probably disagree.

Time passes— minutes or hours, I'm not certain— and eventually, reason prevails. Some part of me knows that crying is unproductive. Crying never helps; it won't answer my questions. And it'll just make me look weak, besides.

 _Deep breaths. Deep breaths are a remedy for panic, right? Right._

 _You can do this... whoever you are._

 _Shit, this is_ _weird_ _. Amnesia?_

 _Slow, deep breaths._

The tears slow to a trickle, as I fight to suppress the panic.

 _Enough._

 _How much time did I waste crying? Did being turned into a child somehow affect my mind? My emotions? How much does physiology affect one's mental state?_

 _Ugh... My head. Too many things to worry about at once._

Of course, the throbbing has evolved into a full-blown monster of a headache after that crying jag.

 _And did someone turn up the volume on static?!_ The voice, if it is indeed a voice, is still incomprehensible. The static-like sound, on the other hand, is much louder. A glance downwards and I discover the source. It isn't static, but sand slithering over the stone floor. _Weird; I don't feel a breeze strong enough to stir sand._

 _Wait— another distraction._ _Focus._

 _What do I do now?_

 _Take it one step at a time._

 _Okay._

 _One thing at a time._

 _Okay._

 _Let's go wash your face, whoever you are._

 _Whoever I am?_

 _... What a mess._

There are three identical doors to choose from. I have to stand on my tiptoes to securely grasp the handle and open a door. Door number one reveals a closet, filled with clothes in neutral colors, fitted to a young child. Looking down reveals they are probably sized for me. Luckily, door number two leads me to a small bathroom, complete with toilet, shower, and a stepstool next to the sink. _Very handy._ I use the facilities— _oh look; now I know my biological sex!_ — and then slowly and meticulously wash my hands. It has nothing to do with a fear of germs, and everything to do with my fear of what I'll see in the mirror when I inevitably look up.

 _So, I'm a boy. Well, since I don't remember being anything else before, boy or girl... That doesn't really matter._ I continue my internal monologue, ignoring the mirror as I splash my face with some lukewarm water, fumbling around for a towel to dry off. _Gotcha!_ Face scrubbed clean and dry, I have no reasonable excuse to keep stalling. Raising my head, I study my reflection in the mirror.

Teal, pupil-less eyes blink back at me from beneath fluffy, dark red bangs. "...Huh. Cute kid." Chubby, rosy cheeks. Porcelain-white skin with no hint of freckles, despite the red hair. _I'm going to get crazy mad sunburn._ Vaguely Asian features. _Three, maybe four years old at the most?_ "Bit girly looking, though." _Bit young to think he's an adult, too._

Tracing the kohl-like markings around my eyes, I murmur, "Looks a little familiar, at least? Maybe I'm just a younger me?" Considering my identity is now whoever I am physically due to lack of self-specific memories, I resolve to ignore the issue until it becomes a problem. If it ever becomes a problem. _Probably not the sanest approach, but what can you do?_

A despondent sigh. _Hell with it. Let's look around a bit, see if anything jogs my absentee memories._ Backtracking into what is probably my room, I head over to the last door— door number three. Letting my instincts take the lead, I follow the hallway over to a set of stairs, meandering upwards until I exit a door that leads to the roof. It's a fantastic view— a fathomless sky, black velvet speckled by brilliant stars. A cloudless night.

The sky is beautiful, but instead of awe I feel another surge of horror. _Even the constellations... The stars are different. Foreign. A different world? A different reality?_

 _Who is the dream, and who the dreamer... whoever I was, or whoever I am now?_ _Does it even matter, if I don't know who either person is?_

"...What a nightmare, huh?" My voice is childishly light, matching my diminutive form. With a shudder, I take a seat on the roof, near the hatch leading back inside, and stare at the full moon dominating the sky. "At least that is still the same." Relief, blessed relief, at seeing something familiar.

 _Still. I need to keep moving, keep adapting. While it seems my body knows this place, I don't have any memories of it at all. Is this my home? Most likely... Well, at least not much is expected from children my size. I keep quiet, and I'll figure things out eventually. Maybe some of those books downstairs will help, too..._ _It's a good thing I enjoy reading. Although enjoy is probably putting it lightly—raving bibliophile might be more accurate._

It's strange, having what feels like an adult mind in a child's body. _Having no memories of my previous identity... Really, that probably helps more than hinders. Why keep crying over losing something you don't remember? Having knowledge, but not how any of those facts arrived in your mind, though? Really, massively disorienting._

 _Ha! Rationalizing._

 _...Didn't I decide to not think about this?_

 _Right! The verdict is: forget the past, and go with the flow. Yeah. Something like that._ _At least I have the first one down pat._

 _May as well enjoy the view for a bit; I'm probably not going to sleep again tonight._

It's cold outside— I should feel a chill, should be shivering, but I don't. The wind stirs my hair, and I close my eyes in enjoyment. The air smells clean, untainted by pollution. I take a deep breath, relishing the calm.

The moon spills its pale light over the foreign landscape— some sort of town. The architecture is foreign, and everything from paved streets, dusted with sand, to the stone buildings in strange shapes, is carved from the mountainous terrain. From my relatively high vantage point, I can just barely see the edge of the village, protected by sheer cliffs.

Of course, as soon as I establish an uneasy truce with my current situation, things change. The door opens, an adult figure stepping through, expression rapidly shifting from concerned to relieved. "There you are, little one. I thought we agreed you'd stay in your room at night? ...Did you forget?"

I stare back silently, eyes wide.

The person is tall, but compared to me nearly everyone is tall. Sandy blond hair, chin length. They are somewhat androgynous in appearance, but the voice is definitely male. With how much time I spent studying myself in the mirror not too long ago, I notice— _could it be we're related?_ – that we share quite a few features.

The silence grows awkward, and I hurriedly think up an excuse. _What would a normal child say?_ "...Scary dream." I mumble hesitantly. "F'rgot."

A sharpness in the adult's violet eyes— "Were you asleep, Gaara-chan?"

 _That name. That name. Where do I know it from? Something I read?_ Since he seems worried at the idea of me sleeping, I adjust my story. "...Mm. No?" I shrug, and glance down at my hands. _Actually, Stranger-I-Don't-Know-But-Probably-Should, this whole experience seems like one long, exceptionally realistic 'scary dream.'_

Expression once again concerned, the man presses for an answer. "You're sure?"

"Mm-hmm." Nodding resolutely, I rise, dusting off my pants and peer back up at the man.

He seems to believe me, considering the kind, if tired, smile he flashes in my direction. "If you say so, Gaara-chan." He ruffles my hair, and herds me back inside the building. "Let's get you back to your room. How about I fetch you some fruit juice before I head back to bed?"

* * *

 **02\. Nightmare**

It is three, nearly four, hours later, well into the exploration of my room, that I connect my current identity as cute little 'Gaara-chan' to Sabaku no Gaara, sand-wielding Jinchuuriki with a tenuous grasp on sanity, antagonist and then eventual ally to Uzumaki Naruto. The undeniably peculiar choice in reading material on my bookshelves clues me in— 'Chakra Control for Beginners' and 'Codified Laws of Sunagakure'? ...In retrospect, it is rather obvious.

Predictably, this knowledge triggers another panic attack and crying fit. This time, I notice that the sand in the room as it responds to my distress, creating a cocoon-like, spherical shield that hides me from view. I crouch there, in the cool darkness, and spend the hours until dawn trying to regain my equilibrium.

A warm shower and fresh set of clothes later, I am ready to face the day well before— I have to scramble through my vague recollections of the Naruto series for the name— Uncle Yashamaru returns.

My stomach grumbles in discontent, and I stare longingly at the door leading into the rest of the house. I'm starting to get hungry. _I would go looking for breakfast, but... he did tell me not to leave my room again._ I head towards the bookshelf instead, and bury myself in 'Chakra Control for Beginners.' It's an easy read, obviously geared towards young children.

By the time Yashamaru arrives, I'm able to direct the sand— _my_ _sand_ — which is scattered in a thin layer over the floor of my room. A cursory test proves that the beanbag chairs are also stuffed full of sand. _This room really_ _is_ _one of the safest places for me to relax, I suppose_. The act of manipulating sand seems largely intuitive. Instinctive. I twist thin tendrils of sand into spirals and swirls that reach for the ceiling.

The sand collapses back onto the ground as soon as the door opens.

"Gaara-kun. Ready for the day?" Yashamaru asks, his tone and manner cheerful.

"Mm-hm." I nod, but continue staring at my bare feet, pretending to be fascinated by my toes, wriggling them playfully in the sand. The book I'd finished is abandoned on the floor beside my feet.

"Oh! Were you practicing your reading?" Yashamaru gifts me with an encouraging smile.

"Mm-hm." _Am I being too quiet?_ Gazing upwards, I peek through my bangs.

A soft laugh, "Feeling quiet today, hm? Well, that's alright. Come on, little one, breakfast is ready."

Yashamaru strides into the room, scooping me up, placing me on his hip, and we travel over to the kitchen.

...Breakfast is delicious. Although I stare quite longingly at Yashamaru's dark coffee, especially while sipping my juice. He merely laughs at me and ruffles my hair. "Maybe in a few years, Gaara-chan."

After breakfast is training. Not studying or school— training is the only way to describe it. Yashamaru leads me over to the backyard, leaving me with another man. Someone he addresses coolly as 'Kazekage-sama'. _My father_.

Training is... exhausting. A long series of demanding chakra control exercises, interspaced with physical exercise— basic stretches, calisthenics, some kata. Kazekage-sama seems content with my control of the sand, but admonishes me coldly for 'slacking' in my practice of the kata. _Asshole._ I think grumpily, and feel an echo of agreement from somewhere within myself. Whether this is Shukaku or merely the vestiges of whoever I was before my memories disappeared, I do not know. I try my best to stare at the ground instead of glaring rebelliously at the Kazekage.

Needless to say, I am vastly relieved when Yashamaru retrieves me for lunch.

In the afternoon, Yashamaru leads me through more normal studies—reading, writing, basic math and the like. _I suppose I_ _am_ _school age if they're drilling me in multiplication already._

Yashamaru seems to be a remarkably patient teacher, tolerating my occasional daydreaming. The work is painfully boring, but I try to slog through the mind-numbing worksheets as slowly as I can nevertheless. The approving smile I receive from Yashamaru when I present him with a finished worksheet causes a brief feeling of joy to flutter in my chest. Those smiles keep me on task. We stop an hour or so before dinnertime, and I am free to explore my room, as well as the rest of the house.

It does not take me long to conclude that Yashamaru and I live here alone.

Over the next week, I learn that my days are strictly organized. The schedule is depressingly repetitive. I also learn that I am never ever allowed to roam the village that is our home, with or without supervision. I find myself sneaking out onto the roof on a nightly basis, staring that the sleeping village in longing, contemplating the increasingly complicated mess my life has become.

 _For now, I cannot afford to trust anyone besides myself, especially not my so-called family._

Can I trust Rasa, the Kazekage, the man who indirectly murdered his wife and sacrificed his unborn son for the sake of his village? Not even a little. He will remain 'Kazekage-sama' until I can call him father without the word dripping with sarcasm. _When I no longer want to kick him in the balls for being such a pitiful excuse for a parent. Not until he can prioritize family over obligations to Suna. So... probably never._

As for the rest of my family... Uncle Yashamaru certainly seems to care for me, but the shinobi world is built upon layers and layers of lies— _who knows?_ — and as a shinobi his loyalty will always be, first and foremost, to the Kazekage. _Could I keep him from dying?_

My siblings seem to be trained and raised separately from me; it is only because of Yashamaru I know of their existence at all... and they're normal children, besides. As normal as shinobi children can be, I suppose.

 _No. Remember, Gaara. You can trust only yourself. Everyone else— I have to keep questioning their motives._

* * *

 **03\. Demon**

I give up hiding my intellectual capabilities barely a month after my awakening. Well, to be honest, I run out of children's books and start raiding bookshelves throughout the house for reading material— fiction, training manuals, anything I can get my hands on. It's kind of blatant. Thus, by the time I turn four, I am acknowledged, perhaps somewhat grudgingly, as a prodigy. I deserve none of the praise, considering the circumstances, so I do not feel discouraged when I receive praise only from Yashamaru. The Kazekage only pushes me harder in training.

Thankfully, Yashamaru eventually begins allowing me to roam the village in the evenings and on the weekends. I'd secretly hoped that I wouldn't be shunned yet, but— it was wishful thinking after all. The isolation is... overwhelming in its intensity. Although I've done nothing to them, the villagers shun me, going so far as to turn their faces away to avoid eye contact. The streets are eerily silent in my presence, disturbed only by the occasional hurried whisper.

I would take the other children avoiding me more harshly if I considered myself a child I suppose... Still. In the privacy of my thoughts, I admit it— I feel lonely. I haven't even managed to meet my older siblings! As far as I know they are privately tutored as well.

A few months after my fourth birthday, it happens. After a particularly long, tiring day— Kazekage-sama has run me ragged in training, fine-tuning my chakra control, pushing me to my limits and beyond. I'm probably on the edge of chakra exhaustion.

 _Have to test the resilience of the 'weapon' thoroughly._ I reason, feeling understandably bitter. _Still. I suppose it_ _is_ _good to know my limits._

Tired of the wary and, occasionally, contemptuous looks from just about everyone, and tired in general, I decide to retreat to the cliffs located at edge of the village after dinner. I settle in a child-sized nook I'd carved in the cliff face a few months ago with my sand. The view of the sunset, of the desert landscape beyond the village being swallowed by the night, is soothing.

It's a good place to meditate— my eyelids drift to half-mast as I relax.

I don't even notice when I fall asleep.

It certainly isn't on purpose; I hadn't thought myself capable of sleep. This body seems to have been conditioned to stay awake at all costs. _I can't imagine why..._ _Not_ _. Wasn't there something about the Ichibi taking over my body if I fall sleep?_

As such, I am understandably startled and highly annoyed when faced with a completely foreign landscape.

"Damn it! Not again!"

The view is somewhat... surreal. A cloudless, starless black sky, like the maw of some giant beast. A large full moon dominates the horizon, bathing my surroundings in eerie crimson-tinted light. Intimidating-looking mountains, somewhere far in the distance, jut up towards the sky like jagged teeth. I am surrounded by unfamiliar buildings, tilted at awkward angles and half-buried in sand. Some are hollowed-out ruins, bound in rusting chains; others seem almost completely intact, but as devoid of life as their broken-down counterparts.

 _This whole place looks devoid of life. Although... Like Uncle Yashamaru says: even in the desert, life always finds a way._

Glancing down I idly note the ground is farther away than I've become used to. "...The fuck? Can't anything stay the same?!" I seem to be... not child-sized again. I would feel thankful, if not for the dreamlike quality of this place.

"So... Theory number one. This is my mindscape. Theory two? A dream. Thus—" _I can manipulate the surroundings, with some effort, perhaps my own appearance, too. ...And there should be a very grumpy Bijuu somewhere in here. Unless it's running loose in my child-body._

 _Oh God._

 _You know, my day just keeps getting better and better. Thanks again, Kazekage-sama,_ I think sarcastically, but then wave the thought away. _Holding on to that anger, that much festering hatred... it's useless. A waste of energy. I have more important things to worry about. Keep focused, Gaara._

Shrugging, I pick a direction and start walking. After all, what else is there for me to do? Eventually, I reach the mountains... and a blatantly ominous-looking cave. I pause at the entrance— it is predictably dark, with an appropriate aura of encroaching doom, and expelling unnaturally warm air with a smell that reminds me of wet earth after a rainstorm.

Needless to say, it does not inspire warm and fuzzy feelings.

 _Sure, Gaara,_ I snark at myself, _Recklessly explore the possibly demon-infested wasteland. See where_ _that_ _leads you._ The only answer is echoing, sinister laughter that chills the blood. I repress a shudder, and soldier on, stepping into the darkness. There's no other option; the path behind me, and indeed the entire ruined village I'd wandered through for the past half-hour, seems to have been consumed by the desert.

The gloomy tunnel is relatively short, opening into a well-lit, cavernous room— though where the light comes from is impossible to tell. The place feels unnaturally warm compared to the cool night air outside. The only inhabitant is, shall we say, memorable— a massive beast. A Tanuki, reclining in a nest-like seat made from sand. The Bijuu has black, tattoo-like markings covering its sandy hide. It's eyes—misshapen pupils in sickly yellow irises, surrounded by black sclera— scrutinize me as I linger near the edge of the tunnel leading into its... burrow, I suppose?

" **Bah! Insect."** the Ichibi proclaims, its voice booming, echoing slightly in the cavern.

I don't know if it is bravery or stupidity— I secretly suspect the latter— but I somehow manage to hold my voice steady and not flee, gibbering in fear. "...Ichibi no Shukaku. A pleasure to meet you." It's not quite the truth, but not really a lie, either. Shukaku is someone that cannot leave me alone, after all. And I am already so very, very tired of being lonely. _How does_ _anyone_ _survive like this?_

After all, humans are social animals. Without companionship, we suffer— not only emotionally, but mentally and physically. Maybe it is like that for giant chakra beasts, too?

" **Human. So you're the new vessel..."** For a few moments, we stare at each other in silence. I'm trying to gather my thoughts, while it— _he? let's go with he_ — is still staring as if trying to figure out a puzzle, lipless, jagged mouth grinning. **"Feh! You look older than you should, but what does Shukaku know about pesky humans? Time means nothing to The Great Shukaku!"**

"It's Gaara, actually... As for your question, I seem to have problems seeing myself as a child, so I suppose my body here reflects that. I'm four years old."

The Bijuu blinks, and angles its face towards me, leering. **"You say something to Shukaku, baby insect?"**

"Gaara. Not a bug." I correct, tone firm. _This conversation is... very surreal._

" **Feh! What does Shukaku care, insect?"**

"...Well, we seem to be chained together for the time being. I'd prefer not to be at odds, considering that."

" **As if an insect like you can do anything to The Great Shukaku!"**

"I suppose not." I nod agreeably, "But it's probably awfully boring in here without anyone to talk to. I know it is so for me, out there." I gesture to the exit. "Besides," I eye the beast's claws thoughtfully, "If you kill me, they'll just find another person to be their weapon. Probably someone more boring than me." _And more brainwashed— I mean, more_ _loyal_ _to the village._ "So, how about we... discuss terms for peaceful cohabitation?"

" **Feh! The Great Shukaku** **knows** **humanity... You insects are all liars."**

I can't deny the fact that my words are meant to persuade; but outright lies? Not really. "It's rude to generalize, you know. Everyone is unique. Some people are age-confused. Other people are Bijuu."

Booming laughter— not quite as sinister as before, though still bone-rattling. This time because of the volume, and my proximity to the Ichibi. **"You're an** **interesting** **brat."**

"Thank you?"

" **You should be thankful! The Great Shukaku will consider your words, insect."**

Arching a brow, I cross my arms loosely in front of my chest. "...Thank you." _I expected to have to fight my way out of here, and did not have much hope of winning._

" **Insect-brat! Scram! Enough babbling; Shukaku will speak to you later, if Shukaku feels like it. Remember— Shukaku will eat your soul if you sleep!"** Another round of laughter follows me, echoing in the tunnel as I struggle not to speed up my tactical retreat.

* * *

 **04\. Precipice**

Days blur into weeks, months, and finally years.

Even though I've yet to prove myself a danger, the social isolation I face within the village only seems to intensify as time passes. I find myself increasingly dependent on the few bonds I have managed to cultivate. I depend on my interactions with Yashamaru and Kazekage-sama, and, a far more terrifying prospect, Shukaku, to keep me sane.

By the time I'm eight, Shukaku and I have managed to settle into something vaguely resembling a friendship. I sometimes feel as if I'm talking to a fickle child, but it's better to have a temperamental, homicidal ball of rage and chakra as a friend than to have no friends at all. I believe I can trust Shukaku to protect his only source of conversation, even if my body is his prison. And although he whispers of bloodlust and senseless carnage into my thoughts on occasion, usually when annoyed with me, off in a sulk... he is a constant. A pillar of rock in the ever-shifting sands of my life.

It's better than the alternative— complete isolation. Hostile silence, day after day, interrupted only occasionally by hostile actions.

"...Predictable." I proclaim coldly in a youthful tenor, as I regard the trio of opponents some halfwit has decided to send against Shukaku and I. There is laughter in my head, cadence rising and falling, rising and falling, as Shukaku eggs me on; a sinister chorus.

 _ **HaHAhAhaHA! Squish 'em, squish 'em!**_

They are Suna shinobi, according to their proudly displayed headbands. Their faces, all but their eyes, are hidden. _I wonder if the Kazekage is aware... Or is he the one responsible?_

A wall of sand protects my back from a slash, enveloping the sword and its wielder rapidly. The man dies screaming, sand coiling around his body, constricting like a massive serpent. He wriggles futilely; I restrained his hands and feet first. The others recoil in horror as all but his head is crushed with a sickening squelch, sending a torrent of blood gushing over the tiled roof we stand on. A few spatters reach me, speckling my shirt in red.

 _ **Yes, yes! Like that! Squish them like the useless bugs they are!**_ The voice in my head; he's like a child with a magnifying glass, torturing ants. Shukaku is very rarely silent. He remains a constant presence in my head since we first met face-to-face. I've grown used to his bloodthirstiness; it hardly phases me anymore.

Expression placid, I tilt my head tilted slightly to the left, tone nonchalant. "...Are you going to flee?" _Please do._

 _ **haHAHAhaHaHAhAhaHA— Don't let the bugs escape!**_

They choose to attack with wind jutsu instead. _A shame._ I don't enjoy killing; this would be easier if I did. Still. These are not the first humans I've killed, nor, do I expect, will they be the last. They far from the first assassins sent to 'deal with the demon.' The attacks began shortly after Yashamaru first allowed me to wander the village. It had been quite an unpleasant surprise... I am rarely surprised by their stubborn desire to die by my sand anymore.

 _Have I failed in some way, Kazekage-sama? Or is this path inevitable?_

Blood-tainted sand absorbs the damage the wind jutsu would have dealt as easily as it did the slash from the sword. "...Boring." _What a senseless waste of life._ "You're all boring." While my sand defends me, a separate tendril rises from the street below us, behind the pair of shinobi. Soon enough, they join their comrade in death. Rest assured— their departure is both bloody and exceptionally painful.

 _ **HahAHAhaHaHAHA!**_

And I? I feel empty, lacking emotions, like a spoon has scooped out the core of me. Hollow, instead of guilty or sickened by my actions.

A quiet sigh. I gaze upwards at the overcast sky as an ominous rumble forecasts the approach of a rare rainstorm. _Not even in the double digits in terms of age, and I feel little remorse at killing these humans. These_ _insects_ _, as Shukaku says. What am I becoming? What are they turning me into?_

 _ **Awww... Done already? You should have played with them more.**_

 _You know I'm not really interested in that. Maybe next time._

The sky opens up, releasing a light shower, raindrops beating a staccato rhythm on the rooftops of Suna. I suppose the assassins had been hoping it would rain sooner; it might have made killing them more difficult for me. Leaning back slightly, I let the rainwater hit my face and trickle down. It's soothing. "...The sky is crying."

 _I've run out of tears, both for them and for myself._ _Hey, is reality compensating?_

 _ **Feh! Idiot. Get out of the rain. Our sand won't respond as quickly if it's soaked.**_

"True." And then, remembering that being seen talking to myself wouldn't improve anyone's opinion of the possessed demon child, I think back my reply. _I know, Shukaku._ _It feels nice, though._

 _ **...Yes.**_

 _I'm sorry._

 _ **Feh! The Great Shukaku does not need your pity or useless apologies, brat.**_

 _I'll say it anyway— I'm sorry. It's unfair._

 _ **Many things are unfair in life, brat.**_

Not only does the rain weigh down my sand— the rain slows my reaction time, too. Dulls the senses. Washes away the abstract patterns I've inadvertently painted on my clothes in my enemies' blood. The cooling corpses on the roof beside me... the blood pooled around their mangled bodies taints the rivulets of water trickling down the roof a light red.

 _Sometimes I almost wish it would wash_ _me_ _away, too._

 _ **Brat! Stop being so moody; you're no teenager. The stupid insects got what they deserved.**_ Shukaku's gruff voice jars me from my thoughts. "Thanks." _You're right. I'll head back inside._ As I turn away to begin the short trek home, lightning strikes somewhere outside the village. A peal of thunder rumbles through the air, and the steady rain turns into a torrential downpour.

 _ **Of course The Great Shukaku is right! The Great Shukaku is always right!**_

A bemused smile. Shukaku is so contradictory— so serious one moment, and then blatantly childish the next. _I thought we agreed— no yelling. You'll give both of us a headache._

 _ **Shut up!**_

 _ **Whatever... I'm going to take a nap. Wake me up if some idiot tries to kill us**_ _ **again**_ _ **. Next time, I'll just take over and remove the source of the problem— this stupid village!**_

 _I really should disagree, but you're right, this is becoming tiresome. Our luck can't last forever._

* * *

 **05\. Freefall**

"Deep in my heart... I always hated you."

 _I was so hopeful, but in the end—_

 _But I'm_ _different_ _! Their perception of me should be different! So shouldn't—why didn't_ _this_ _change?_

 _...Why, Yashamaru?_

He lays prone on the rooftop, crippled by my sand. _To do this on the roof of the home we've shared for so long... It is good I do not require much sleep._ Violet eyes stare up at me accusingly.  Piercing. I should know better than to approach closer, but I hover over him nevertheless. My uncle is mobile enough to reveal the explosive notes layered under his jounin vest. "Gaara," he intones coldly, "For the good of the village, please cease to exist. Die."

 _Why the assassination attempts?_

A pulse of chakra set the notes alight.

 _Why am I regarded as a monster? Shukaku and I have hurt no one that did not attack us first!_

My sand swirls around me, shielding— protecting me, as always.

 _Yashamaru..._ _Why_ _? I thought of you as a father. More than the man that contributed to my creation. I_ _loved_ _you. I— I would have noticed hatred in your eyes if it existed._

 _Did you resent me after all, Yashamaru? Just a little? Is that why you agreed to take this mission? Do you resent this end? Are you sorry? Sorry for this, or for caring for me in the first place?_

 _Everything ending up like this... How cruel._

Explosion over, I release my control of the sand, letting it slither back down to the rooftop.

"Aa..." Short, panting gasps. "Hah." I force myself to stare at the remains. The explosion, followed by a wave of crushing sand, essentially obliterated what was left of his— the body. _Really, it's just a pile of meat._ Blood, flesh, and flecks of shattered bone—all singed, all dusted with the sand that shielded me.

For the first time in a long while, the sight of a body makes me nauseous. Gagging, I force the bile back. _No_ _. I won't embarrass myself that way._

"Yashamaru..." A quiet whisper escapes me.

For all that I have the mind of an adult; my body is that of a child. My heart is that of a child. I embraced being Gaara, broken childhood and all—but I'd had Yashamaru. I had someone that protected me, supported me, loved me. My eyes water, tears spilling freely down my cheeks. Squeezing my eyes shut, I cover my face with my hands, fighting back sobs. _What sort of life is this?_

"Yashamaru... Why did you have to die? Why did you have to leave me alone?"

 _Is this a punishment? Was I a bad person?_ _Am_ _I a bad person? No matter what I do, nothing changes. I'm still alone. No— now I'm even more alone._

 _I— I won't let them break me. I_ _won't_ _. I won't let them ruin me_ _or_ _Shukaku._

 _I won't cease to be myself. Gaara is Gaara._ _I_ _am Gaara, Jinchuuriki of the Ichibi, friend to Shukaku. I'll continue being Gaara, no matter how painful. No matter what sort of person I become._

 _I won't disappear!_

The world, my world, is falling apart, like one of my sand clones. Eroding away, dissolving into sand...

 _Such a fate— I refuse to disappear!_

 _Shukaku, don't leave me alone! Don't let me disappear!_

It feels like my very thoughts are falling apart, fragmenting.

 _I am_ _not_ _a tool, to be broken and thrown away! Shukaku, we're not— I'm not going to let you, let us, be used that way!_

 _...I'll break_ _them_ _first._

* * *

And that's it, my dear readers!

Yashamaru (what little we see of him) is a sweetheart. You know, until the whole 'by the way, I hated you all along, you murderer' speech. (I did age Gaara up a bit, so the melodrama-trauma happens at eight instead of six. Mostly because I wanted him to have a better relationship with Shukaku, which would take time. And for that assassination attempt to not be his first.) Gaara is bitter, snarky, and quietly rebellious. Shukaku is a homicidal, chronically lonely, possibly teenaged, giant ball of angry chakra. (Bijuu as sulky brats. Anyone else see it?)

So, what happens next? Hmm... I leave this open-ended on purpose. And while I'm not actively planning to write more, who knows what the muses will decide? (Later. Definitely not before I finish other certain writer's-block-inspiring projects.)

Anyway~! This is a gift fic for **mildrice** , Reviewer number 200 for Transposed.

...And now I really have no excuse; have to resume writing Transposed 'verse.


End file.
